Combustion
by TheLostMaximoff
Summary: How many lives must you take to get back everything you lost? After the fall of the Factory and Amon's death, Robin intends to find out.


Combustion

By TheLostMaximoff

Disclaimer: Don't own these characters. I don't really know if I like the idea of evil Robin but she's pretty fun to write. R/R and see what you think.

For a long time there is only darkness. I cannot see, hear, or feel anything. It is an all-consuming void that beckons me to let it embrace me. For a little bit I contemplate joining it and welcoming it to me. So close to the edge now, staring into the abyss. Then my body begins to move and I lose the darkness.

My eyes crack open and I cough. Where am I? What happened? I cough again. Smoke and dust clog my lungs and threaten to suffocate me. I try to move and do so although it takes great effort. I look around me and I see only destruction and chaos. Then it all hits me. The Factory, Zaizen, the STN-J.

"Amon," I cough, "Amon?" I stagger to my feet. Something scratches against my chest and bites me. I reach into the inside pocket on my coat and pull out the broken pair of glasses inside. I toss them away. Some things can be replaced but those aren't what concern me at the moment.

"Amon?" I croak again, "Where are you?" No reply. I strain to listen over the cacophony of sirens and noise around me. He has to be here, has to be alive. I thought he was right behind me as we were escaping. I can't have lost him, I can't.

I try to walk forward but stumble. Pain grips me and threatens to pull me back into the darkness. My ears ring and my eyes water as I cough more dust from my aching lungs. I stumble again and fall face first onto the rubble. I turn my head to the side and stare into the horizon. My vision focuses itself and then I see it. Sticking out from under some rubble is Amon's arm.

"Hang on," I tell him as I get up, "I'm coming." I make my way over to where he is. I burn away some of the rubble but stop after a few seconds because of my vision problems. I clear the rest of it away with my hands. The sight I am greeted with is one that will forever haunt me in my nightmares.

"Amon," I tell him, "Amon, we have to get out of here. It's not safe. They'll come after me and I. . .." I stop as the words stick in my already clogged throat. There is no reply to my pleas. They fall upon the deaf ears of a dead body.

"Can't do this alone," I whisper, finishing my sentence. No. God, please no. I stare into his lifeless eyes. So dark, forever dark. No, Amon. Why did you have to go where I can't follow? Why did you have to leave me alone?

"Amon," I croak, "Amon, get up. Please get up." I feel the tears begin to flow. It wasn't supposed to be this way. Why did he always have to put himself in harm's way because of me? Why did he always have to shut me out when I tried to get close to him? Why couldn't he let me love him like I wanted?

"Amon," I beg as I touch his cheek, "God, why? I loved you so much. Please don't leave me when I need you the most." His skin is cold. He was always cold but I tried to ignore it. I tried to tell myself that if I kept trying to get him to open up to me he could love me. I deluded myself. I followed him around like a sad, little puppy. Now I'm alone with no one to turn to. Now the little Robin has broken wings that will never heal. Damn him and damn everyone else for all of it.

I run my hand down his chest and feel the puncture wound in his side. So much blood. For some reason I am reminded of something I learned at the convent. Everyone always used to tell me that God will never give you more burdens than you are able to carry. I don't know why that truth haunts me now. Maybe it's because I've reached the lowest denominator, reached a point where I have no solace left. There are people out there right now who will hunt me down like some mongrel dog and execute me because they believe it's their duty. My life has slipped out of my control and spiraled into a never-ending nightmare of cat-and-mouse. I feel now as if I'm some broken cog in a giant machine, a piece that has outlived her usefulness and needs to be replaced. Is this the bottom of the barrel? Is this the point where the weight of my burdens crushes me completely?

I contemplate all these things kneeling before the dead body of a man who I loved and who saved my life. I'm so lost in sorrow and grief I barely hear the gun cock behind me as it's leveled at my back.

"Robin Sena," says the cold tone, "don't move." I stare at Amon's lifeless body. Somewhere inside my head, a chemical equation becomes unbalanced. Brainwaves and electrical currents jump their tracks and scramble each other up. It only takes a blink of an eye for it to occur, for the world to snap into a grim and cruel focus. It really doesn't take much to go insane. It can happen to anybody at any time or any place. All it takes is the right set of events. All it takes it the complete and total destruction of any semblance of a normal life for an innocent teenage girl to turn into a cold-blooded killer. And do you know what the best part is? If you're said teenage girl you can feel it happening. You can feel the darkness creeping inside you and you enjoy it and want it all the more.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to Amon's body as I kiss him on the cheek. He should've killed me when he had the chance. He should've pumped me so full of Orbo it would've come out of my eyes. He didn't though. It's quite ironic really. Amon's death isn't just the catalyst for my insanity, it's the death of the last hope STN has of ever stopping me.

"I said don't move," repeats the STN officer.

"You have the wrong girl," I tell him plainly as I stand up and turn around, "Robin Sena is very, very dead." I can feel it now, the hot rage of madness. It was always bubbling and boiling inside of me. All it needed was to wait until my sanity snapped like a twig and then it could be released. It's what I was destined for, after all. Why shouldn't I succumb to this darkness? Why shouldn't I start taking from those who have taken everything from me? I learned my Old Testament well. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. I don't know how many lives will equal my humanity but I'll find out soon enough.

"I said. . .." states the officer as I step towards him. He doesn't get very far and he certainly is no longer threatening when his gun is a molten lump of metal. I marvel at how well I can aim my craft now. Perhaps for the first time in my life I am truly seeing clearly.

"And I said she's dead," I tell the officer, "You already murdered her." The officer tries to run now but I won't give him such satisfaction. He can run back to his normal life, back to his nine-to-five routine. He can run home to his wife and children. What about me? Where can I run to now? There's no place left for me to run. A jagged bolt of fire crackles through the air and cuts him at his legs. He lets out a cry of pain as he falls down.

"No more running," I tell him, "No more hiding, no more cowering from people like you."

"No, please," begs the officer, "Please, God, no." I savor his words. He pleads to the deaf. I will not listen and, most importantly, God will not listen. God has already heard me beg exactly the same words. He did nothing to ease my pain. I will not give this man, this man who would murder me without a second thought, such comfort by sparing him. No, God has called in sick today. He has a nasty habit of doing that right when I need Him the most. Well, if God is not here now then perhaps what the world needs is a goddess. After all, someone must teach humanity how truly filthy it is.

"He won't listen," I tell the officer, "He wouldn't listen when you were burning my kind at the stake. He wouldn't listen when I was trapped at the bottom of a well listening to the sound of your people executing my friend. He wouldn't listen when I begged him to bring back the only person in the world I loved. Tell me, why should He listen to you now?"

"No," cries the officer as flames lick at his heels and slowly crawl across his body, threatening to engulf him, "Why are you doing this?" A memory flickers behind my eyes. I remember one of my very first hunts. A witch asked me that same question once. As I watched him get pumped full of Orbo, he asked me why I was doing this. I remember my answer._ Because you're a witch. _The times have changed but my answer now is as simple as it was back then.

"Because _I'm_ a witch," I tell him with a cruel smile, "and according to you and your kind, killing is the only thing I know how to do." The man's only reply is a scream as I incinerate him.


End file.
